


The ever-growing pool of glories

by LadySpearWife



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21646618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySpearWife/pseuds/LadySpearWife
Summary: In the larger than life, ever-growing legend that is Lewis Hamilton, Valtteri is aware that he’s an interesting footnote at best.
Relationships: Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg, Valtteri Bottas/Lewis Hamilton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	The ever-growing pool of glories

In the larger than life, ever-growing legend that is Lewis Hamilton, Valtteri is aware that he’s an interesting footnote at best.

He wouldn’t say it’s a one-pilot garage, and yet it stings.

Because it’s Lewis’ final word, Lewis’ whims, Lewis’ glories. Six-times world champion and aiming for the seven. Legend embodied, able to do as he pleases in Mercedes. He says _I want Valtteri_ , and Toto finally takes a contract from his drawer. He says _the car doesn’t feel good_ , and everyone rushes to fix whatever millimetric mistake to make sure that he’s at his finest. He says something vaguely interesting, and the world is quick to applaud or demolish – Valtteri’s not jealous or frustrated or anything.

Valtteri’s not Nico.

He’s not willing to sit in seething fury until he can strike. He can’t put up the kind of fight that Nico put – in the sidelines until he could push Lewis from his pedestal and claim that title. It’s too implosive, too aggressive, too rotten. Valtteri is not here to weave chaos, to fight so hard, to scream his side of the story. He’s a second driver meant to cajole any emotional fires and create the harmony that lacked for so long. Valtteri is not, by any means, a title contender, which is supposed to be bitter. And it is.

Lewis looks at him with quizzical, dimly sad, brown eyes. The face of a man who has won everything and is lonely at the top. Not even champagne can cure everything, and he certainly can’t speed away from heartbreak. It hits Valtteri that Lewis is thirty-four, plays his part dutifully every year since 2007 and is twisting himself into another kind of living legend. And it hits Valtteri that he didn’t think that Lewis would go that far, even if he was just a boy watching that stellar rookie year unfold in his home.

Six championships and more than a whole decade later, Lewis puts Valtteri’s hands on his hips. He doesn’t need to ask to be dragged closer. He doesn’t need to ask to be kissed. He doesn’t need to ask to be fucked in this overly expensive hotel bedroom until he forgets about the season, the critics, his own heartbreak, all the expectations and _Nico_. Valtteri doesn’t know where he stands and doesn’t know if they ever did that before he was added in the picture to extinguish the fires Nico left behind in the wake of his retirement. He wonders if it even matters, honestly, as they lie there in silence.

Lewis is beautiful, glowing in his post-orgasm daze with a faint smile tugging at his lips. Valtteri wants to unfold the tales inked all over his skin, but he knows everything about limits and obedience. As warm as Lewis tends to appear, he’s the true royalty of this sport. He’s not to be touched unless he wants to be – so high above the world in his pedestal of eighty-four victories and six fucking titles. Valtteri sighs.


End file.
